


The Past Presents The Future

by synonym



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6091699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonym/pseuds/synonym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their relationship is the foundation of his past and the necessity of his future. Which seems to all intertwine inevitably and he realizes he orbits around her just as the earth orbits the sun. So he tries to pick up the pieces of them because in the end, she is all that really matters when he wakes up every morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He feels like every minute that passes is a wasted one. He sits in his chair with his back hunched over his desk, pouring over evidence, like he was back in law school. When everyone’s lives were on the line, the chain of command meant very little. This should be done by a paralegal or a bright eyed lawyer fresh out of Harvard. It itches away at his neck and he pulls his collar with a finger.  
  
He glances out the door. He has a fondness for glass doors. He can see one step ahead, he can keep a steadfast reputation of knowing exactly what to expect, he can stare without staring.   
  
-  
  
_“Donna, I need you to call Fred Callaghan, he apparently is the defendant’s lawyer but I can’t understand how considering he writes notes like he’s a doctor writing prescriptions,” He’s at her desk and plops himself on the edge. It nudges at her tidy stack of files, which proceed to slightly shift the photo on her desk and she stops typing._  
  
_He feels something akin to giddiness when she stares at him, which she does in this moment, and he could do nothing to stop the smile at the corners of his mouth. He leans himself in a little closer in an effort to disarm her, he doesn’t look away and neither does she._  
  
_“You know there’s an intercom, right?” She plays his game, and he thinks for the millionth time that she is the most incredible human being on the planet. He never thought that person would be a redhead._  
  
_“What?” She rolls her eyes and her teeth pull at the corner of her lower lip for a split second. He’s never seen her reaction this close to her face before and he probably would lie under oath to repeat the experience. He tells himself to keep that information secret. He also tells himself that probably is not definitely and it helps a little._  
  
_“The intercom. In your office. So that you don’t have to inconvenience yourself,” She means her and her desk, he’s sure of it, “and take time from your busy schedule to run to your secretary every time you have a task,” She is smiling outright, with teeth and all, and the rhythm in his chest picks up. She places her hand on his. She is playing with him and beating him by a mile and all he can wonder is what her hair must look like in the sun, that those ridiculous fake flower hairclips he had teased her for buying when she had came back from lunch last week ("why are they green? they look like daisies, donna, are you going to wear those? in your hair?") made her hair look like fire and he could only imagine._  
  
_“That takes the excitement out of this,”_  
  
_“Out of what?” She pulls her hand away and turns back to her computer. He inhales and he wants to take his door off its hinges. Even better, he would like her desk in his office with him. She would kill him and it would defeat the purpose for having a secretary, which didn’t exactly make it an easy sell to Cameron but he would settle for more open floor plan. He can’t stop himself from grinning._  
  
_“Getting to see you,” She falters for a moment in her typing, and he thinks maybe he has won. It’s the only game he doesn’t care if he wins because the inevitable outcome is her in some way and that is better than winning. He keeps that to himself too._  
  
_“Harvey, go get your goddamn work done and learn how to use the intercom.”_  
  
_(The millionth and one.)_  
  
-  
  
The impending doom of his firm, his friend, and his colleagues, and he is staring at his secretary. His secretary. He looks down at the document in his hand, his fingers shifting back and forth against the page he was holding in between.   
  
He doesn’t quite know what to call them. She is his confidant, his closest friend, his voice of reason. The lines have blurred so much that he isn’t sure what this is. Secretary seems inadequate and uncertain. They haven’t talked since she came back. They have spoken, but they haven't _talked_. It is the elephant in the room that has been overshadowed by the fact that she is back and it makes him smile without realization and seeps confidence back into every dark corner of self doubt in his body.    
  
_“Are you saying you’re coming back to me?”_  
  
It is burned in his brain, just as everything about her seems to be. He wonders if she knows he can tell when she is having a good day or a bad day just by watching her type. Or that he watches her interact with the people that come to her desk just as much as she listens into his office through the intercom. She tugs on her left earring when she is frustrated, she plays with her hair when she’s on the phone with someone she likes, she taps her fingers when it’s someone she dislikes.  
  
Everything had been progressing so well between them until Mike had roped Scottie back into this mess. He feels on edge as soon as it crosses his mind, like a rubber band pressed so far back that it would either break or snap back.  
  
“Okay, I wasn’t going to step in but you have been staring at that document for the last five minutes without once moving your eyes, and I got thinking you might be having a stroke. To which I thought I should probably come in and make sure,” She’s in his office and he looks at her. Her eyebrows are raised in a comical fashion, “What’s going on, Harvey?”  
  
“Nothing,” He says. He lets the page drop from his fingers and he feels a twinge of pain in his back as he straightens it, “Just some goddamn needle in shit ton of hay stacks.”  
  
“Right,” He wants to wince at her tone but he keeps his face neutral, “You got a call from one of inquiring clients, Don McFarlane.”  
  
“What did he want?”   
  
“You know what he wants.” She’s curt with him now, matching him just seconds ago and he knows he deserves it. Many clients have been calling in to inquire about the state of the firm, desperate to know if they need to leave or if they can get special privileges by hanging on. It pisses him off, and he wishes he could just tell them to take their business and shove it up their ass, but instead tries his best to accommodate them at Jessica’s request.    
  
“Tell him-”  
  
“You can’t keep telling him that. He’s going to jump ship if you don’t meet with him,” She cuts him off because he knows she’s right. He lets her without a word against it, “He’s scheduled in for tomorrow at ten.”  
  
“Fine.” He says sharply. It’s not directed at her, not entirely, but it’s to her and he sees a flicker of her annoyance. She’s always been good at concealing it, but he’s had twelve years to know better.   
  
He expects an argument or for her to at least have the last word. Instead, she is already halfway back to her desk and he feels a lump forming inside his throat. Fear twists in his stomach.  
  
-  
  
_“He’s a child, Harvey! You can’t expect to treat everyone like shit and get what you want,” She is nearly shouting and he’s glad the door is shut, “Do you understand that at all?”_  
  
_“He’s also a goddamn criminal who has basically destroyed a family,” He is pissed, beyond pissed even. He throws his files on his desk and papers slide out and fall to the floor, “So why the hell are you pissed at me? I did what I had to do and I’m going to win because of what I did.”_  
  
_“Because you’re not going to get shit from him like this, despite what your arrogant mind seems to think-”_  
  
_“And you’re not the goddamn lawyer, Donna, so when you go back to school and finish your supposed law degree that you seem to think that you have maybe I’ll take into consideration your idea of how to do my job. Until then why don’t you back the hell off, go back to answering the phones, and stop using your so-called acting skills to pretend like you can do what I do.”_  
  
_He regrets it as soon as it is out of his mouth. Her hair is up today, usually he likes it, but it gave notice to the burn of embarrassment that crept up along her neck. It was near the colour of her hair and a tidal wave guilt crashed into his chest so forcefully he couldn’t get air into his lungs. The hurt that was etched across her face was more than his heart could take but he couldn’t get the words to leave his throat._  
  
_“Anything else?” Her voice is quiet, there’s a tremor in it, as if she’s holding herself back from physically tearing him to shreds. He wants to tell her that he’s sorry, which he thinks he is now, and that he wouldn’t be half of the lawyer he is without her. He wants to touch her waist like he did at the Christmas party when she had laughed at his joke so hard that she leaned in towards him (“The cream cheese landed on his head and, trust me, it looked better than his actual hair!”) when the light haze of wine had set in and they had escaped to the outside at the back of the community center. They had stolen a cheese plate, he nearly had a heart attack at the sight of her in that black dress. She made him laugh like no one else._  
  
_“No,” He mouths and he hears the click of the door. He has never felt so sick in his life._  
  
-  
  
“Donna,” He began, following her to her desk, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t, that’s not directed at you. This is a shit show and with everything that’s been going on, I haven’t been able to stop. With Mike still on the line, I can’t see how we keep any clients if it goes south.”  
  
“It’s fine,” She exhales and she looks at him for a brief moment, “Look, I can call him back and make something up if you need the time-”  
  
“No, keep it,” He wants to put a hand on her shoulder, but he doesn’t want to touch her. He tells himself that several times a day, “If we get out of this alive, we’re going to need all of the clientele that we can get to keep this firm from going under.”  
  
There’s a moment of silence between them and Harvey thinks there is more distance than he thought. The temporary high of her return was settling slowly into a concoction of the comfort in what they were before and the cracks of their fallout. Some moments felt like nothing had changed, others felt disjointed and awkward. If he had learned anything from his therapy, it was that he had absolutely no concept of how to function in a relationship, let alone repair one. The only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted her to stay.  
  
“Thanks,” He says and he gets a small smile for it. A large part of him feels relief at the sight, with the smallest pang in his chest. They used to be more than this. All of the restaurants they had gone to, the social events they had drunkenly sauntered through, all of the late night takeout and the coffee at five in the morning have been reduced to short conversations in his office or by her desk. It had been a slow progression into it, ever since the other time, but it had become unbearably obvious to him since the evening he had spent at her apartment after her prison scare.  
  
Twelve years should make them feel closer than ever. Right now, he’s never felt farther apart.  
  
-  
  
_“Would you rather have sex with Cameron Dennis or swallow five very much alive spiders?”_  
  
_She bursts out laughing and it’s music to his ears. He’s sitting on the floor of Cameron’s office and she’s taken over his chair with her legs up on his desk. He’s fairly certain it is the best sight he has ever seen and he is very drunk and she is very attractive._  
  
_Incredibly, incomprehensibly attractive._  
  
_“I will take the spiders,” She smirks and he wants to die right there, “At least then it would be something memorable.”_  
  
_“You don’t think he knows a few moves?” He manages to say through his laughter. She is looking at him in horror._  
  
_“Please do not ever say those words again.” She says it so seriously that he can’t not think it’s adorable. He makes an ‘x’ with his fingers across his heart and salutes her. His thoughts wander to how much scotch is left in the bottle, to her legs and how many times he had thought about spreading them apart and-_  
  
_“It’s my turn, Mr. Specter.” He felt warmth pooling through his body and he lays himself completely on the floor. His eyes are closed, but he can hear her smiling._  
  
_“You better bring your A game,” He croaks out. His head is spinning as much as the room was. He has a feeling Cameron might come into work tomorrow with a body on his carpet. He is going to get his ass kicked._  
  
_“Would you rather drown in a pool full of jello,” Her voice is closer now, and he hears the sound of her shifting beside him. He isn’t sure which side, “or have to babysit Big Bertha’s five kids every day for the rest of your life?”_  
  
_“Wouldn’t they grow up at one point?” He asks and he’s rewarded with a swift nudge to his torso._  
  
_“You’re breaking the rules of the game, asshole,” She’s still smiling, he can hear it, and he feels her hand begin ruffling his hair in a slow rhythmic pattern._  
  
_“The jello, please,” His hand finds her thigh and he draws shapes on it with his index finger. His eyes open slightly, it’s blurry and spinning, but she is staring down at him with her lower lip between her teeth and small all-knowing smile and it’s as intoxicating as the scotch. He wants her, he’s drunk, but he wants her when he’s sober too. It’s different, he thinks, she’s different than any other woman he’s ever met. It feels like he is drowning in her, and he couldn’t think of a better way to go than that._  
  
_“Cameron is going to kill you,” She murmurs to him. His eyes close once more and he feels something warm against his skull. He knows this and wants to tell her so. He also wants to tell her this was well worth the ass kicking. He doesn’t get to before everything fades out._  
  
-  
  
He was almost back into his office, when he thinks of it. His hand is on the door handle and he turns back towards her desk. She is scribbling something down on a sticky note.  
  
“Do you want to go to that Thai place you like?” He asks and she looks at him, “It’s been a hell of a week, maybe even a month, and I know you haven’t eaten yet. I don’t need any more legal charges on my plate, especially of employee negligence.”   
  
“If I was going to charge you with that, I would have done so a long time ago,” She retorts and his chest feels lighter. He doesn’t want to push them any further apart than they already are.  
  
“Jessica wants to see you, do you want me to meet you by the car after?”  
  
“By the elevators,” He was desperately trying. And by some grace of god, they would find a way through this. “I want to walk.”  
 


	2. Chapter 2

The impact of his shoes against the marble floor make quiet echoes that barely reach his ears. The details of the conference rooms are non-existent in the darkness, the firm had come to a languid murmur of sound, and the warm light that pooled unevenly at his feet came from office lamps and the lights shone down on the array of elevators in the distance.

He remembers idly that his coat is in his office, but he had spent longer than he thought speaking with Jessica and he can do without one, if it meant that he didn’t lose this chance to try navigate his way through whatever might come from tonight. He has been trying not to think about Scottie, but he can’t stop himself from creating a list in his mind of all of the things Donna might bring up that he couldn’t verbally formulate an answer to. The list is extensive and some of the points were triggers for his unpredictable, explosive reactions in conversations they’ve pretended they never had. He wants to be able to speak without losing his shit for once and maybe then he can stop feeling as if the pillars of their relationship were being held up solely by her. That if she were to loosen her grip on what should have been his side to uphold all this time, that twelve years of relentless dedication and stability wouldn’t come crashing down and shatter at their feet.

At the same time, he wants to avoid having to explain to her what happened with Scottie because it makes him feel like a coward and there doesn’t seem to be a way to say it without sounding like an asshole. He loves Scottie in the way he loves when everything goes right, in the way he loves when he wins a case. It’s a plethora of confidence, validation, security and he gets wrapped up in it when she comes around. When he tells her he wants to try to make it work between them, after all of this is over, he says it because he cares for her and even if it falls apart it can’t kill him. She rejects him and he understands but it stings his eyes as she walks away and something feels pulled out from under his feet.

Scottie is a safety net and Donna is falling at five thousand feet without a parachute.

-

_“Marcus, I love you and all, but three times in one week is getting excessive,” Harvey says as he takes a bite of his bagel. His knee knocks against Marcus’ and he can feel the heat of the sun in the creases of his suit, “Did you piss someone off? You can just tell me instead of trying to buy my legal advice with bagels, shithead.”_

_“You’re a shithead,” Marcus laughs, “I bet I can kick your ass now. Why do I need a reason to come visit you?”_

_“Marcus,” He is willing to do anything for his brother but he loathes the reluctancy Marcus always had telling him about his problems. Marcus shrugs out of his jacket and Harvey crumples up the wrapper with the remains of his bagel in his fist._

_“I didn’t, alright?” Marcus says and he shoves the last piece of his hotdog in his mouth, “We barely see each other because either you’re busy or I’m not here and I’m trying to make the most of what we got.”_

_Marcus wipes his lips with the back of his hand and sometimes Harvey can only see the little kid he helped with his math homework, the boy who came home crying with a black eye from school, the prankster who put aloe gel in his toothpaste tube. He sees Marcus a couple times a year now and he has been an adult for almost as long as he has, but the vivid memories of his ten year old brother strike him every time in the smallest of ways._

_“But there is one small thing,” Marcus is grinning, “Is Donna seeing anyone?”_

_His heart comes to a screeching halt. The feeling of her nails digging into his skin comes flooding back, there’s whip cream and her on his tongue, his skin is on fire, and all he can do is repeat her name over and over to drown out the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. Then it disappears and all he can picture is Marcus pressing his mouth against hers and he feels like going to throw up, he doesn’t want to share her with anyone else, he’s supposed to pretend like it never happened. (“God, Harvey, **please**.”) That his brother would see her flushed across her cheeks with a sheepish smile curled in her pink and yellow striped blanket and a vulnerability he had only seen in that moment make his insides feel like they being ripped out of place._

_“You can’t date Donna.”_

_“Is this a protective thing?” Marcus chuckles and shoves Harvey’s shoulder, “Because if you remember, I went on a date with Scottie once, albeit by accident, and I was the perfect gentleman. And when I told you, you were fine with it, so what’s your deal?”_

_He can’t talk about this. He pushes himself off the ledge and his stomach lurches when his feet hit the ground. This is different, somehow._

_“I have to get back to work, kid.” He needs to get his shit together._

-

He is nearly there when she comes into view and it takes him a second to realize he has slowed himself to a stop. She is leaning against the wall, her hair is blocking the view of her face as she tilts to see her phone, and his coat is draped across her shoulders.

There is such a familiarity in the way she looks, from the dip of her nose to her thin steady hands to the way the muscles in her calves constrict when she moves, and it’s a rare moment where he can appreciate her physical appearance for what it constructs and find solace in every edge and curve.

His pocket vibrates and he takes out his phone.

‘Is everything ok?’ It reads, and he’s watching her again because she’s pushed her hair away from her face and her brows are creased in worry. He can’t comprehend how he got to be the one that was so closely tied to her. He can imagine she could find just about anyone else, he knows that there’s no one else that comes close to her.

“Yeah,” He voices aloud, “Louis sent Sheila Sazs to Argentina.” They also don’t know if they can win. He also thinks this is all his fault, but he doesn’t want tonight to become about her giving him comfort and reassuring him because this is about them and her job shouldn’t have to include catering to his every doubt.

“It would almost be romantic if it wasn’t, you know, for the sake of the firm,” She observes and her tone is warm with amusement. Her heels click as she walks, her muscles constrict.

“Well, I’ve always guessed that a relationship with Louis would be kind of a three way thing,” The buzz of the elevator interrupts him for a moment and they shuffle in, “But I kind of assumed the aforementioned party would be his cat.”

“You realize his cat is dead, right?” She sounds incredulous, but her mouth is betraying her. She’s wearing green and it’s distracting.

“Really?” He knows that but he craves the rapport, “Is it past the point where it’s awkward to send a sympathy card?”

“It’s been over a year, Harvey but if you would like to visit the pet cemetery and drop off some flowers, I’m sure Bruno would appreciate the sentiment in kitty heaven.”

“I always thought it was Banjo,” He is rewarded with a soft laugh and it puts him at ease. They lapse into silence as the elevators open and the snap of her heels fills the lack of conversation. She begins to shrug his coat off her shoulders when they reach the doors.

He slips into it and it smells like flowers and honey when he breathes in. It’s warm around the shoulders where she had made her mark and there is a realization that if he closes his eyes the scent would be akin to burying himself in her neck, and it’s too close to an edge he had spent years climbing out of.

“Keep it on,” She’s in the motions of unwrapping his scarf from her neck. It creeps up on them and the silence is suddenly strung tightly between the physical distance of their feet. It is one of those moments that has fallen into the cracks and he knows it because she’s clearing her throat instead of uttering a word.

“It’s cold,” He offers. He tells himself it has nothing to do with the fact it’s his scarf on her neck, and it doesn’t, but her scent would linger in the fabric and there is comfort in the thought.

“How chivalrous,” She brings them back to steady ground with a grin and she strides past him. Maybe the cracks were unavoidable right now because they spent years ignoring small marks and scratches, but they seem to pick themselves up every time.

“I can do even better than that,” He’s right behind her, “I can send you to Argentina.”

He gets a full laugh this time. It’s vocal and genuine, the wind whips at his face, and he is lost in its sound.

-

_“Why are you wearing my sweater?”_

_It’s Saturday morning, the office is desolate, and he’s asked her to come into work to help him prep for trial. The deal was donuts and good coffee, he has both, and she’s looking much more appreciative of the things in his hands than him as he arrives._

_“It’s eight a.m. on a Saturday and I’m here,” She’s taking the coffee tray from him and setting the box of donuts on her desk, “I get to do whatever the hell I want.”_

_“You have no idea where the thermostat is, do you?”_

_“Not one sweet clue.” She’s picking out a donut as if she is debating on which one, but he knows she will pick double chocolate as she always does, and he thinks she might be the best thing that’s come from working at the DA’s office in the last few months._

_“It looks good on you,” It does, with her dark jeans and tied up hair, he grins with delight, “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you with pants on.”_

_She rolls her eyes and takes a bite into her double chocolate donut. His affection for her is growing and he is doing very little to stop it._

-

The restaurant is quiet and everything is as he remembers. There is a warm glow to the place, it’s narrow with different levels to it, and they’ve chosen the lowest one with a corner booth. She chose it, it’s hidden away by a partial wall, and the tables that surround it are empty and untouched.

They’ve already ordered, her purse is between them, and he’s pouring wine into both of their glasses. The silence is his indecision, he wants to open up to her, but her laugh has him reeling backwards into a comfort zone that had been the cause of all of this. He can tell himself that it won’t happen again, that they can morph themselves back into who they were and they won’t continue down this path that builds resentment and distance until there is nothing left of them to fall apart. But it’s a goddamn lie, and it makes his throat burn to think there could ever be a day that he wasn’t part of her axis. He feels like there is nothing outside of her, she is just as much him as he is himself, and that terrifies him.

“I wasn’t just born with the gift of being an incredible secretary, you know,” Donna says. She gives him a fleeting smile because she can sense his turmoil and that is so utterly her that it pains him, “I worked for someone before you. I was twenty-one at the time and things weren’t exactly going well for me. My acting career was at a standstill, I had literally the worst boyfriend I have ever had in my life, and I was making shitty life choices. By some stroke of luck, I ended up at the wrong side of the building for an audition, literally ran into some stranger, and he hired me that day.”

“How come you’ve never told me this?” He asks because he’s never had to look at her resume. She takes a large sip of her wine and the rise of her shoulders is meek.

“I have, kind of,” Her hand are playing with the foundation of the glass, “Not directly.”

“Come on, Donna,” He would have remembered, he’s sure of it, but nothing comes to mind, “You don’t think I would recall if you had told me that you used to be someone else’s girl Friday?”

“I never told you names or places, Harvey,” She sounds careful, “I’ve just said that I have a rule against sleeping with someone that I work with.”

He feels thrown off balance. He had always assumed it was a rule in the general sense, because of the professional repercussions, because it could make for bad business. There is food in front of them now and the waiter is gone before he can remember to utter a thank you.

“The details of it aren’t important,” She takes the opportunity to continue and he disagrees with the statement entirely, “But what I’m trying to say is that when we slept together all of those years ago and found ourselves working together again keeping that rule was huge part of it. I had this idea in my head for the longest time that it was that rule along with your fears of ruining what we had that was keeping us from trying to be more than what we are,”

He feels as if someone has punched him square in the chest. Her hand is raking through her hair, her voice is quiet and resolute, and he isn’t ready to talk about this.

“But that’s not the truth because I saw how you were with Scottie the other day and it never even occurred to me that,” She pauses for a moment, there’s a self-deprecating smile on her face for a split second, “I’ve been trying to find a chance to tell you this for days so when you asked me to dinner I figured I could finally just get this out.”

“That’s not-” He tries and she’s cutting him off.

“I’m sorry,” She states and the walls are starting to feel too close to his skin, “I care about you more than I’ve cared about anyone in my entire life and I never meant to put you in a position like that. When I was working with Louis, it gave me a chance to put some mental distance between my job and who I am and I couldn’t do that when I was with you, but now I’m back and it’s different.”

“Donna,” This isn’t what he wants. Panic is filling his lungs and he can hardly make the sound of her name come out normal. He wants to pull them closer together and she thinks they need to be farther apart.

“I want to keep working with you, Harvey, and with everything that has happened with Mike, more than ever. I just needed to tell you I’m not going to hold this over you anymore and I’m ashamed that I ever did,” He can’t see her face as she stands up and he can hear the ring of her phone. His mind is blank, “I’ll be right back, I have to get this.”

He doesn’t know why it is happening, there is nothing that they couldn’t talk over once she came back but his heartbeat is drowning out the logic of his thoughts, until it’s too overwhelming to bear and he stumbles his way into the bathroom and throws up until there is nothing left in his stomach.


	3. Chapter 3

There is a patter, a constant movement, in the thick haze of his mind as he wakes that isn’t frequent or routine. He almost always wakes to silence. His brain is desperately trying to pull fragments of memories together to understand how he got to this moment as his hands itch to rub his eyes. If he tilts his head the slightest bit, he can see the clock that reads a little past three. His hand brushes his forehead as he gives into the urge and there is a cold dampness that sends a shiver down his spine.

The more alert he becomes, the more the pieces begin to snap into place. He remembers the cold tile that felt damp from the sweat of his palm. How thick the air seemed as his throat struggled to breathe. He recalls the color red, leather seats that reeked of takeout which only sent more tidal waves of nausea against the walls of his stomach. The most vivid recollection is a hand that never left him, always finding a place on his shoulder, his head, his back. Through the pounding of his heart and the spinning of his head, he felt that hand more than those two nightmares combined.

The sting of embarrassment claws at his throat and shame clenches his fingers into tight fists. He didn’t want her to see that and he doesn’t want her to see him now. He knows she is here and he thinks if he were to die right now, before he could see any pity or disappointment on her face, he could maybe die with some dignity and a little less self-loathing. When she looks at him with pride, there is nothing closer to elation. It is a warm buzzing feeling that reaches every corner of his body and he revels in it. He has never seen her pity, he has felt her anger and sadness and fear, but never pity and he thinks he would rather gorge his eyes out than experience it first hand.

He slowly moves his legs and the leather of the couch gives him away with a soft squeaking sound. He counts his missing articles of clothing as pieces of his pride that have been stripped from him. His shoes, his vest, his tie. It sounds ridiculous even in his head but his clothes feel like a shield against any vulnerability. He is terrified of being more than ten feet away from her, but the very thought that she had seen him completely in pieces on the bathroom floor of a Thai restaurant has him wanting to lock himself in his condo for five months straight as if it were solitary confinement. He hadn’t eaten, there was alcohol, he hadn’t realized how much he had to drink beforehand, he was coming down with the flu, he was working himself too hard. He begins a mental list of excuses to feed her that isn’t truth because the truth is too pathetic to vocalize.

-

_“So this is it, huh?” Her voice echoes off empty walls, “Are you one hundred percent sure about it?”_

_“That’s why you’re here,” He watches her eyes as they examine the details of the condo. He had been almost sure of it from day one, but something kept nagging him at the back of his mind. It’s going to be the largest purchase he has ever made, and although money isn’t a concern, it is the fact that it's going to be home, a permanent one, “ Only ninety-nine percent. You’re my last one percent.”_

_“I only count as one percent?” She raises her eyebrows at him and her hair falls in her eyes as she spins around to face him, “That’s a little low considering I make your legal world go ‘round.”_

_“You’re the only percent that’s not my own.”_

_“I bet you say that to all of the staff at work that’s below you.”_

_He laughs because she is dramatically leaning against the kitchen in mock dismay and he wishes he could take a mental picture of the way she looks right now. It is entire silliness but it is one of her most endearing, captivating features. Sometimes he feels if he looks at her enough, she might permanently become a part of his vision, encapsulated wherever he went, even when he closed his eyes._

_“Only you, M’lady, I give you thy word.” He crosses his heart and gives her a dramatic bow. There was something about her that throws him into her axis, pushes him out of his normal antics and into hers and he forgets what dignity is. She’s laughing with such joy that he doesn’t feel idiotic, only a rush of affection and warmth._

_“Show me the rest.”_

_He does, and absorbs every nuances, every flicker of sentiment on her face. Not because he is afraid she’ll lie about it for him, not in a million years would she do that, but because it matters to him what she thinks and he doesn’t have the will to look away. They end up back in the living room, he isn’t sure when, and the sun has crept behind the clouds leaving only hues of orange in its wake through the windows._

_“Sign for it,” Her hair seems to come to life in the burnout of the day and her words wipe away any doubt left in his mind. She is giving him the look, it’s pride and admiration and a softness that almost looks teasing but he knows her better than that._

_“Right now?”_

_“Yes, holy shit, Harvey,” They are barely a foot apart, she looks in her purse for moment as if to be a reflex. She finds nothing in it, there is a flicker of something that he can’t place in the creases of her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth but it’s gone before he has the chance to, and she looks at him once more, “Before someone takes this incredible place out from under your hands.”_

_He has never felt more sure just listening to her. She’s walking to the elevator and he grabs her sunglasses off the kitchen counter. They should celebrate, he thinks that she would like the sushi bar down the street, and he rarely gets to see her out of the office like this._

_“I like being your one percent.”_

_He thinks he got it wrong as she calls to him over her shoulder. She’s ninety-nine percent. Of what, he can’t quite define but she’s ninety-nine percent and he is merely one._

-

He checks the kitchen first, every step is a little off balance, and there is medication on the counter in a grocery bag but no one in sight. His fingers have a tight grip on the edge of the marble, he breathes in as much as he can. The sensation of lacking oxygen scratches at his throat even now.

He finds her in his bedroom. He can see her before he gets to the door frame, she sitting at the very tip of his bed, her feet are bare and he is very aware of how pink her toenails are with such sudden mental acuity. It keeps his attention with its vibrancy, like hypnosis, and he feels like it is a near intimate thing watching her ankles make unconscious circles, her toes curl and uncurl, and the color swing against the dark wood of the floor. Everything is a near intimate thing when it comes to her and maybe that is his problem in itself, or maybe he is making wars out of blinding white flags and he doesn’t know how to stop. He looks at the object in her hands instead with painful determination.

“You were a peanut for Halloween?” She says without looking up, it’s his childhood photo album, it’s wide brown frame spills over her lap and he wants to thank her until his voice turns hoarse from use. She had this incomprehensible understanding of nearly everything.

“It was that or a jar of jam,” He sits down beside her, “Look at the next page- Marcus got the short end of the stick on that one. Dad’s idea.”

“Your dad never gave me those ones,” Her fingertips slide down the edge of the page and flip it with one swift movement.

“It’s scary to know my dad gave you any at all,” The sarcasm tumbles from his mouth and his eyebrows raise with his tone. It’s not scary, it’s a pleasant hum of comfort to hear about their rapport and the buzzing in his chest counteracts the embarrassment tying his organs to knots, but he likes the look he gets when he uses that tone and it wins out every time, “How many do you have, exactly?”

She gives him the look and he finds himself caught it for a small moment. Ten years ago, he could have summarized what they were in a few sentences. Now it was a two-hundred page novel that cuts off mid-sentence.

The space between them is small, the wrinkles of the sheets creating tiny barriers that he finds himself drawn to stare at. She flips to another page and he flashes back to the bathroom floor with such vivid images that his teeth clench together.

“You’re not weak,” Her voice anchors him back to his bedroom, to his wrinkled sheets that he makes into a metaphor, because everything reminds him of her in some way, and it’s all stood out since she left as if to be in flashing lights. He wonders if she is looking at him, his burning throat is enough to bear in this moment, “You are one of the most incredible men I have ever met.”

She makes him smile and it’s almost enough. Everything seems to be almost enough. He knows it’s just a broken way of saying it isn’t, but her hand is on his thigh, and he thinks in this moment that almost is miles above nothing at all.

“Those panic attacks, that’s not something that’s just going to go away. I’m not a psychiatrist, so there’s no scientific proof I can give you to believe me, but you didn’t cause that. I swear to god, that wasn’t you,” There is a sharp intake of breath, “If I could go back in time and fix all of the wrong your mother did, I would do it a thousand times over. I can’t and I can’t begin to vocalize how much that pains me. But, Harvey, you can ask for help. I will keep telling you this for the rest of your life if I have to: you are not alone.”

He felt like he is gasping for air without opening his mouth. He looks at her then, he knows he needs her like earth needs the sun because his heart likely beats in time to her every move, and for the first time the thought doesn’t terrify him. There isn’t a ounce of pity on her face, only relentless determination, and the words come with an ease he never expected.

“I want you to stay tonight.”

-

_“Harvey, you drove all this way and you’re telling me there’s no particular reason?” His dad ushers him inside, drops of water hit the hardwood floors of his entry way, one falls from his hair to his nose. The patter of rain is muffled as soon as the door slams shut, “Son, you’re welcome here at any time of any day but it’s a little hard to believe it’s a casual visit at eleven o’clock at night.”_

_“Sorry,” The letters crumble as he speaks, his resolution to feign a calm he doesn’t feel falls along with it._

_“What’s going on?” His dad already has his jacket off of him and is in stride to his liquor cabinet before he can utter a word. It’s warm, the house, with high ceilings and pictures hung on nearly every wall. Harvey kicks his shoes off and his feet dig themselves into the knitted carpet._

_“Donna and I got into a fight.”_

_His dad begins to laugh, “My god, Harvey. You look like someone ran over your dog, not someone who got into a fight with their wife.”_

_“It was bad,” He replays it over and over in his head, it’s making him feel so ill that he wants to vomit. He thinks he’s an asshole and she deserves better. She will realize someday. Today could be that day and he would rather die that come face to face with that, “I was so fucking focused on a goddamn case that I completely humiliated her, I insulted her, and for what?”_

_“Harvey, she knows you. She knows you as well as I do, and she knows you're a good person,” His dad hands him a glass of scotch, “I have no doubt that you said something stupid and dickish, believe me.”_

_He is smiling at Harvey, taking a sip of his own scotch. There is a glimmer of tip of the glass that reflects in his eyes, the creases that fold near them seem even deeper than he remembers, “But all you have to do is tell her what you feel. Tell her that you’re an idiot, that you’re sorry, and that you value her more than anyone. She loves you, she’s not going anywhere.”_

_Harvey swallows and it stings as his throat constricts, “How do you know that?” He murmurs and the glass is cold against his lips as he takes a gulp of his scotch._

_“Trust me, kid. I know.”_

-

There is running water from the bathroom, and he wants to wring his hands. He has never had nervous ticks throughout his life, but he feels might begin to develop them tonight. She is staying in the guest bedroom and he trying not to berate himself for asking.

“It’s likely going to be a little big,” He calls into the crack of the door frame. He has his back against the wall in the hallway, watching movement dance in the pool of light that seeped out from the opening of the guest room. He tries to keep is mind blank as he hears the soft thud of fabric falling onto the hardwood.

“Harvey, it’s your clothing, I didn’t expect it too be tight,” She returns, and he can hear muffled shuffling. The door swings open.

His heart stutters. She has on his oversized Harvard sweater with the sleeves bunched up at her elbows, a pair of his light blue boxers because he thought it would be the only thing tight enough at the waist, and her hair loose and wilder than she would ever dare to let be in the office. He might have a heart attack, he thinks. She is so close to him, nearly a foot away, and he could live the rest of his life in this moment and not regret a single second of it.

Ten years ago he made a choice. Instead of dancing with his hand curled around her waist, of laughter that turned into soft kisses, of hands intertwined together, he chose late nights of takeout and paperwork, quiet goodnights at the elevator, a stern constant voice that kept him on the straight and narrow.

“Not my best look, I’m sure,” The sarcasm rolls off her tongue as she pulls at the sweater. The top of his mouth is too dry to get the words out.

He had always, an emphasis an always, thought he had made the right choice. That he couldn’t screw this up, that the need to have her in his life outweighed his intense, drowning desire for her, and he could live with it.

“You’re wrong,” He can’t think with clarity, the night flashes in pieces and the only steady thing about it is her. Her support and her loyalty is one thing in their place of work, but tonight it had been his goddamn solace.

There is a small flash of surprise on her features, and his hand grabs the loose fabric of the sweater, and he pulls her against him, his other hand wrapping around her shoulders. Her hands immediately grip his back and her head burrows into his chest. He can smell honey, and his laundry soap that lingers in his borrowed clothes. Hugging is not something he ever did often in his life, but he is slowly losing himself in the sensation of her.

He hears her muffled voice that vibrates against his chest, “You have terrible taste in laundry detergent,” A chuckle bubbles in his throat, affection burning through his rib cage. He isn’t sure he can live with it anymore.


End file.
